Green and Black Blotches
by Konstantinsen
Summary: "We found him wandering around. He was real friendly and even covered our asses!" Still, the stalkers at the Laundromat were skeptical.


August 31, 2012

10:32 – Twenty-six stalkers secure the LAUNDROMAT camp in MICRODISTRICT I of PRIPYAT as their base of operations.

13:24 – Stalkers initiate the first raids into PRIPYAT.

September 6, 2012

05:49 – MERCENARIES launch a surprise attack in an attempt to secure the LAUNDROMAT for their own base of operations.

* * *

The food was barely scraped off the bowl when the first volley of shots pierced the morning air. Garry stumbled to the floor and reached for his gun.

Already, three of their own were dead and four were under the care of Uncle Yar. The attack was quick and sudden. The mercenaries pressed heavily against them despite their size in numbers. Garry remembered they had come here twenty-six strong. In the past week, they had been whittled down to eighteen. No wonder the military had a hard time.

Upstairs, Borka peeked through the hole in the window. "I count about ten of them!" he yelled into his speakerphone.

"They're only ten and we could've taken 'em out!" Garry yelled back.

"They got us with our pants down!"

_If not the Monolith, the fucking mercs!_ "You sure there's ten?"

"Just ten from where I'm at!"

_Yar, me, Borka, Tulin... shit, we're only eleven!_

"RPG!"

An explosion rocked the building. In the laundry hall, a gaping hole was blasted into the wall, leaving an opening which the attackers immediately exploited.

"Shit! Yar, two men down!"

The fighting had now taken indoors. Garry saw movement and acted quick, his rifle butt smashing against his opponent and prematurely yanking the pin off the grenade in his hand. He saw it and leaped far behind the column.

The blast knocked his senses beyond his reach. Ears ringing, he struggled to get to his feet. He could see his gun not far from him and saw a boot press down against it. Garry was at the mercy of a trained professional, his eyes facing the end of the barrel. A half-second later, the man's head erupted in a red cloud. And the rest followed.

Yar slid across the floor and dragged Garry behind cover. "A guy couldn't make it. The rest are comatose. Had to knock 'em out."

"What? Why!"

"Well, with all the fighting, I figured you needed an extra hand."

Garry looked at the dead mercenary sprawled across the floor. "Oh, right. Thanks."

"That wasn't me though."

"Eh?"

Borka came through the transmission. "Holy shit! We've got reinforcements!" There was a moment of static before his tone changed, "It's Viggo and Erik! And they've got this military guy with them. They're taking out the mercs!"

The two stalkers shared a look. _Military guy?_ Yar handed him his gun. "Military or not, until the mercs are gone, we'll deal with him later."

Garry nodded and positioned himself behind the main doors. On the count of three, they flew open and in less than a minute, it was all over. The survivors of the attack gathered outside to collect on the immediate aftermath of the battle. That was until they noticed the green and black blotches of camouflage on one of those standing.

Viggo saw the twitching fast enough to raise his hand in defense of their newfound comrade. "Wait! Don't shoot!"

"He's Military!" Borka shouted, his rifle already trained at the stranger's head.

"But he saved your asses!"

"We can't trust him," another stalker chirped.

"But he's a really nice guy!" Erik protested.

"Come on, guys. He's not even making a move for his piece."

"That doesn't mean he gets to cuddle with us!"

The rest of the stalkers hastily agreed. Despite the tension in that hung in the air, Yar couldn't help but notice the calmness in the man's pose. He stood at attention, his arms behind his back and his legs apart, the Dragunov neatly slung over his shoulder. He looked at Garry who also shared the same perplexed expression. _What do you think?_

_ It just doesn't feel right. Something's fishy._

_ I hear you._

"Hold on now!" The arguments stopped. Everyone watched as Yar casually strode to the stranger, closely peeking through the broken visor of the cracked helmet before bursting into laughter much to everyone's confusion.

Garry tapped his shoulder. "What the hell, Uncle Yar?"

"Have a look! It's been quite some time since we last met."

Degtyarev removed his helmet, revealing a tired and solemn face.

"Major?" Garry's went wide as Yar continued to laugh through awkward ordeal. "What the fuck?" _I thought you were fucking dead!_

* * *

September 7, 2012

09:42 – COLONEL ALEXANDER DEGTYAREV contacts the USS and confirms his status as not "lost to the ZONE".


End file.
